Hotel W Montreal -- Montreal, Quebec -- 8:00pm Eastern Standard Time -- Monday November 20, 2017
The lights of Montreal beamed brilliantly through the drizzle of the night. The brilliance reflecting on the puddles of the sidewalk.
They seemed to put the glitter in the eyes of well-dressed, well-coiffed blonde striding gracefully and purposefully up the Rue-Saint Antoine. Her red trench coat flowing effortlessly in the slight breeze. Each click-clack of her heels purposeful.
She was holding a briefcase. Looking just another financial wonk in one of the North America's premier financial cities.
But underneath her calm air of Gallic charm were grit, guile and secrets.
She entered the posh hotel in a confident manner. The contacts awaiting nearly missed her. She blended into the upscale vibe of the place. Not quite the agent they thought, or where used to.
"Excuse me, madame. Are you aware of the words."
"There are twenty. Good evening."
"Follow us, please."
They headed past the lobby, down past the trendy nightspot, filled with young capitalist warriors watching the Alouettes-Argonauts gridiron match. "These North Americans and their strange game," she thought. "I saw too much that in university down there."
She was well-versed in North America, or at least a particular version of thought on the continent. Her gait and style suggested she came from Europe. She was a child of those seeking a return of the burgeoning nationalistic Europe of the 1930s. A belief that found a rugged kinship across the Atlantic.
Her grandfather embraced that kinship in the 1970, when he, the founder of a fledging nationalist organization, had an opportunity to meet a foreign minister named Jesse Helms at a conference. They two struck a friendship to became beacon for their ambitious...beginning with Helms rising to the presidency of the Confederate States in 1977.
Seeking to export what Jesse Helms called, "Confederate moral and spiritual internationalism in a sinful world," Helms extended the support of the CSA, and its state security apparatus, to all groups that shared their views.
The ambitious man certainly shared the views from his perch. Railing against what he called, "The economic blashphemy and social chaos against our national birthright, our nation, and our race."
The CSA spent the 1970s and 1980s building a white fortress in Europe. Britain, France, Germany, Italy, into the central midlands. Pro-Atlanta parties and organization grew in stature, even as the CSA was also building bridges to the IRNA and even to Soviet Russia. The tactical and spiritual underpinnings of what we see today.
The young lady walking with purpose was a grandchild of that kinship. A protege of the ambition. Raised in the movement back home, educated in its facets at home and across the Atlantic. She attended finishing school away from the ponce and fancy of Europe, and deep within the bowels of this truth faith. Six years ago she received two advanced degree at Bob Jones University, and then accepted her commission into the high church of this faith.
L'Agence de Sécurité de l'État Confédéré assurera l'existence de notre peuple et un avenir sûr pour les enfants blancs pieux
The venue was a private suite floor above the fun and whimsy of Montreal's young, monied and climbing. The room was soundproof, bug-swept, and ready for business.
The person out front for the meeting party was man not much older than herself. Like her he was looked more like he was cutting a business deal than leading a political resistance.
"Madame...At last we come together...I haven't had the pleasure of your name."
"For the purposes of this meeting, I am Nicole," she said flatly. "Let it be known that my superiors are watching. Any subterfuge by you will be unwise. It could prove fatal."
Some in the room where taken aback. She sensed it. The dossier on this people has stated this: THESE ARE PEOPLE WHO BELIEVE IN THE LARGER CAUSE, BUT THEY HAVE YET TO TRULY ENGAGE IN THE FINER POLITICS OF GODLY SPIRITUAL PURITY AND RENEWAL THAT WE ARE SEEKING. THEY WILL NEED A LOT OF EDUCATION AND WORK ON THEIR PRAXIS IN THE LARGER STRUGGLE.
"Nicole, what you see here, " the man began. "is the high command of our movement. Our new Front de libération du Québec."
"I see," the woman said. "You do realize that my organization helped fund the last FLQ, or at least elements of it."
"I am aware," the man said. "But that FLQ didn't hold the same principles that ours will."
A second man, wearing clothes more in-tune with old FLQ said. "The principle that we will fight the mongrelization of our people. We will fight against what Trudeau and that....woman, wish to do in coalition."
She looked at them indifferently. "Yes, you can say the words, but can you act on them?" she thought.
The leader continued. "We have built links between ourselves, Le Solidare, and with the New Maine National Police forces. We are planning operations with them, to counter what the enemies of our states are doing."
"What are they doing?" She asked.
The man showed her photos, documents. Her eye brow raised, "Maybe they aren't so amateurish after all. We'll see."
"I see your skepticism madame," he intoned with his quebecois accent rising in cadence. "This is why I came bearing gifts by bearing information."
She looked at home. "Where did you get this?"
I have connections in the military. Like you I'm come from bloodlines as well.
"Are you sure you know of that?"
"Madame, my grandfather taught me, the same way yours taught you."
She looked at the man again. He was cool. Calculated. She had to give him that. But was he bluffing? Maybe, but she played on.
"Well, I see we have things we can work with, and we can do business," she said.
"Yes," he answered. "We can work you people into proximity of the pipelines that are using to aid the black and red bastards in Maine. And at the same time we can do here what your people have done in Maine and Alaska."
"That is more your affair, monsieur,"
"Marc-Jean...for now," he said with a hint of responsive arrogance. "Like you Nicole...for the purposes of this meeting. We shall not be too familiar."
"Anyway, you know and I know, LePage and Palin do not happen without the aid of your organization. We seek to help you secure a beachhead at a place where its needed, and to strengthen our resolve."
The woman kept the confident mask, but inside she was calculating the pros and cons. "What would be their role?" She thought. "Could they play their role? Could they fit into the principles and the program, they way did back home? The way that the Colombians and Venezuelan are doing?"
Her thought locked on the man as her walked her through the data he collected. She recalled the dossiers on him as well. "Yes, you might know me, or think you know of me. But I know you are as vain as your grandfather was. It was his reticence, that kept us from broaching a bigger deal. But now, Chairman Duke thinks you can be trusted. Barton has his doubts...as do I... I'll dance with you, but you best stay in step."
"Monsueir," she said. "I am impressed with the presentation you have given. I will run this forward up the chain of command."
The man smirk-smiled as her heard this. "Mister Duke is testing us," he thought. "Good. I welcome that, and we'll prove our worth."
"You do that," he said. "In the meantime, we shall continue to press forward for a free, white Quebec. As it should be."
to be continued.
